


Tremendous off the Line

by nm_317



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, episode: s17e04 Top Gear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 18:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nm_317/pseuds/nm_317
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Jeremy agree about the Nissan GT-R. Is there something else they agree on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tremendous off the Line

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place when they were filming episode 4 of series 17 (which aired July 17, 2011). Summary of the important bits from wikipedia: Before the news proper, James takes a moment to tout the virtues of the Nissan GT-R’s launch control. ... Finally, James asks Jeremy and Richard if the used cars they bought in the previous episode have broken down or not. Richard says his BMW 850Ci has not broken down but, after some evasion, Jeremy admits that the ignition coil of his Mercedes CL 600 needs replacing, and with labour costs, will end up costing him £1,200.
> 
> The conversation at the beginning comes from a video of James driving the GTR, and testing the launch control, that was posted on the Top Gear website.

 

 

As he drives the GT-R back to the crew, James is giddy in a way he hasn’t been in a while – maybe not since laughing raucously to dirty Romanian sat nav in a Rolls-Royce Corniche with Oz Clarke. But this glee is even better; it plays to his love of how things work, makes him thankful for the twisted, unexplainable journey of his life that’s got him to where he is.

This car is – he can’t stop saying it – tremendous off the line. This incredible, thrumming piece of machinery below him, the hundreds of hours of manpower and maths and ingenuity he can almost feel beneath his feet. Even if the car hadn’t been equipped with camera and sound, he’d still be talking about it, narrating his reactions, so great is his need to share the feeling.

He beckons Jeremy closer before he even stops the car. He can’t wait to tell him that he understands, that he feels it too. “Now, look,” he begins. “You are – let’s be honest – given to a certain amount of hyperbole.”

It’s rare that he and Jeremy agree so completely on anything. They have things in common, of course: prog rock, beer, and cars among them. But they are different even where they are alike. For James, music is to be appreciated and digested; for Jeremy, it is background noise for a conversation or even an argument, or an excuse for off-key caterwauling or an air drum solo. James drinks proper beer; Jeremy complains it’s full of twigs and drinks nothing much better than weak piss, really. And cars, well…. James had said on his very first episode of the new  _Top Gear_  that he liked his Bentley exactly because it wasn’t Jeremy Clarkson’s kind of car. And though that was a bit of hyperbole of his own, it wasn’t so far off the mark.

Jeremy leans in, elbows sprawled across the windscreen and jutting off the side of the door mirror, talking about acceleration and snowmobiles. His eyes are lit up with excitement that James can only assume is mirrored in his own eyes, and James even forgets for a moment all the people surrounding them, the cameras and the microphones. Just reaches, hoping, for one more moment of synchronicity with Clarkson, just one more moment of kinship with the other man.

“Do you know what’s the other weird thing?”

“You like it,” Jeremy answers with a certainty that floods James with warmth.

“I do.”

“I like it, as well.”

“I want it.”

“ _I_  want it.”

They’re still grinning at each other as the camera operator and the rest of the crew begin to shut down and move away.

“This is seriously incredible,” James murmurs quietly, half-expecting Jeremy to take the piss now, mock James for his continued praise. His fingers trail softly over the GT-R emblazoned in the center of the steering wheel.

“Look at you.” Jeremy’s voice is barely audible over the sound of retreating footsteps, the quiet rumble of the idling engine, and the general thrum of activity always present at the track.

“What?” He’s defensive now, eyes lifting off the steering wheel to eye the other man warily. Surely Jeremy is readying a mild, yet biting insult.

“The way you get when you’re trying to understand some engineering marvel. The frown lines in your forehead, the sparkle in your eyes….” Before James is able to ask what Clarkson is going on about, he continues, “Do you know, sometimes I wish I could see things like you do? Could make sense of the internal combustion engine? Or of music?”

James feels like he’s missing something here, something important. Worried that acknowledging his befuddlement means leaving this place where he and Jeremy are on the same wavelength, means going back to where they’re boring, predictable James and brilliant, incredible Jezza, James only smiles lopsidedly and leans back into the leather seat. “You could. Told you before you could.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “I can’t. My mind doesn’t work like yours. It only has two settings:  _power_  or  _loud_.”

“Now that’s just bollocks, Jez.”

Jeremy shrugs and finally stands, wincing and grabbing at his lower back as it pops. “Taking that back to the garage yourself?”

“Yeah. Not quite ready to give it up yet. Even if I have to walk back.”

“Mind if I come with you?” Even as the words leave his lips, Jeremy is turning on his heel to stride in front of the car.

Once Jeremy is buckled in, James puts the car into reverse and begins to back down the drive. He’s tempted to ask Clarkson if everything’s all right, if there’s something on his mind that would make prudent an unnecessary trip with James to the hangar. But that’s not what they do, any of the three of them. They tease, they cajole, they distract with inane conversation, and at some point – usually after a few too many beers – the truth comes out.

“This car is really tempting me,” is all he says instead, sliding gently into first and taking off at usual Captain Slow speed.

Jeremy tips his head in James’ direction. “So buy one.”

“I’d have to sell one of my cars. Or rent another garage.” He reaches forward absently, tilting the center vent a few degrees upward, so it matches the one on his right. “The Porsche’s got….”

“God, I love your hands.” It’s a low mumble, just clear enough for James to make out despite his distraction.

James’ head whips to his left, eyes wide. “What?”

“You heard – fuck, May!” Jeremy’s hand covers James’ on the steering wheel as he yanks it hard to the left. On instinct, James’ foot comes down firmly on the brake and there’s a solid pressure across his chest where the seatbelt digs in as the car comes to a stop. “You were going to run up the fucking curb, man.”

James engages the parking brake then turns toward the other man. Jeremy’s breaths are coming in short, fast pants, and James isn’t sure if that’s because James has almost dinged up a £75,000 car on loan or because he’s just made his apparent attraction…well, apparent.

Jeremy’s face disappears behind a strobe effect as James blinks rapidly. The events of the last several days begin to slot into place: Jeremy bringing him a mug of tea in the morning, without even being badgered or bribed; Jeremy’s hand, sliding warm along his collarbone and down his upper arm on his way out the door; the appraising look and gruff compliment Jeremy had given him after his most recent haircut; easy, genuine smiles given over the top of scripts.

“You’ve been flirting,” James says with astonishment. “Not just now, but for days.”

“Weeks, actually,” Jeremy grumbles, turning toward the windscreen. “You really hadn’t noticed until now? Hammond caught on before we filmed the first episode of the series.”

James’ voice is quiet as he answers, “I really hadn’t.” He chuckles lightly, before catching the quick tightening of the mouth that Jeremy can’t quite conceal. “I – I would have thought, with you, flirting would be about as subtle as a jackhammer.”

“Yeah.” There’s bitterness in that single syllable. Then, with a flare of his nostrils and a slow, deep breath, Jeremy turns his gaze back to James. “I’ve rattled you.”

“Yes,” James agrees with a nod, wiping sweaty fingers on his trouser leg.

“Should I leave? We’ll pretend this never happened?”

It’s clear that’s what Jeremy is expecting him to ask for.

“No.” The answer surprises even James. “I – can I have a minute? To think?”

“You can have all the time you need.”

“Thank you.”

James releases the parking brake, and again Jeremy’s hand moves to cover his own briefly, stopping him from taking off. “Can you make it all the way there without hitting anything?” he asks, laughing. “It’s almost 100 yards, James.”

James smirks. “Shut up, Clarkson.”

And Jeremy is silent, all the way there. And still after James has turned the key, turning off the car and plunging their world into quiet.

“How long, Jezza?” he asks, finally, when the air’s become prickly with silence.

“Months. Since - shortly after Francie and I…. I – I honestly thought you knew, thought you’d twigged a while ago. Thought you were flirting back, actually.” Jeremy huffs a self-deprecating laugh and James turns his head just in time to see him scrub at the back of his head. “Guess I was wrong.”

The worn leather of Jeremy’s jacket is soft between James’ fingers before he even realizes he’s reaching, gripping Jeremy’s shoulder. “I don’t think you were.”

“Don’t patronize me, May, I….”

“I’m not, Clarkson, just shut up for a minute.” James takes a deep breath and loosens his hold on Jeremy’s clothing. “I – lately, I’ve been…” he gestures ineffectively with his hands, “wanting to get close to you. Wanting to understand you. It’s not entirely new, that feeling – Hammond and I, we both…. You’re a  _presence_ , Jeremy. But, I’ve just, just been searching…for more. A connection, I guess.”

“That’s why you drove this car?”

“That was part of it. I’d hoped it would be as amazing as you’d made it out to be.” Frustrated with his inability to explain himself, James unbuckles his seatbelt and turns sideways in his seat. “I didn’t realize  _this_ ” he waves his hands back and forth between the two of them, “was what I wanted.” He rubs at his jaw, finds a patch of rough stubble he’d missed with the razor this morning. “Christ, Jez. How could I not have realized…?”

Hesitant fingertips slide along the length of James’ fingers where they rest on his leg, slowly circle a knuckle. James’ heart beats faster, but he doesn’t feel the urge to pull away. “You should take some time to think about it.”

“Jeremy, I don’t need….”

“James.” Jeremy’s voice is quiet, yet brokers no argument. “Every decision you’ve made without first brooding over it for at least 12 hours, you’ve regretted. Even the ones that were right.”

“I guess.”

Jeremy snorts softly, and James grins in return. “You know it’s true.” Then his hand slips away from James’. “Listen. Come round to mine Thursday? Lunch time?” James opens his mouth to respond, but is stopped by the hand Jeremy holds in front of him. “Saying yes, you’re not promising me that anything is going to happen. We can…see how it goes. No matter what you decide, you can stay the night; I’ve got the kids starting Friday afternoon, and they’d love to see you, and….”

“Clarkson,” James interrupts.

Jeremy’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Nervous is a new look for Jeremy, and it’s doing funny things to James’ insides. “Yeah.”

“Quit babbling and kiss me?” He shrugs, faux-casually, can feel the smile spreading across his face. “Only I can’t know what I’m thinking about agreeing to if I haven’t…mmph.” James trails off as his lips are taken in a gentle kiss. He can feel fingers twining in his hair, Jeremy’s warm breath on his upper lip. James trails his own fingers along the curve of Jeremy’s knee, denim soft and warm beneath his skin.

“Lunch time, did you say?” he asks, eyes still closed, as they pull apart.

\--

“I should’ve worn a nicer shirt,” James mutters, eyes tracking Jeremy from long feet covered in green suede to tanned skin and tufts of graying curls peeking between plackets of a crisp, white button-down. He grins once his eyes reach Clarkson’s hair: it’s as if he’d successfully tamed it for once, then ruined it by running his fingers through only the right side.

“Nonsense,” Jeremy insists with an answering grin, holding the door open and ushering James inside. Displaying a rare moment of chivalry, he takes James’ holdall from him, but ruins it by merely hanging it on the doorknob behind him. “I’ve always thought you should wear more t-shirts.” He reaches out and pinches the end of James’ black shirtsleeve between his fingers. Then he looks up with an exaggerated grimace. “Not those bloody awful ones with planes or bikes on them, though.”

James smiles, suddenly shy and unsure of what to do with his hands. With a short exhalation out his nose, Jeremy must come to the same realization. He swipes his thumb briefly across the hem of James’ sleeve then drops his hand to his side. “Hungry, May?”

It’s ridiculous, but James feels an embarrassed flush rise up his neck. He scratches at the back of his head as he answers, “Er, not really yet. I had a big breakfast.”

Jeremy laughs – and it’s at his expense, but it’s also in happiness, and James can tell, and it  _matters_  - and replies, “Good. Got something I want to show you.”

With a jerk of his head, Jeremy leads them through his sitting room and out the door at the side of the house. It should feel empty, with all the furniture they’d agreed was Francie’s gone and not yet replaced by something that’s  _Jeremy’s_  instead of  _Jeremy and Francie’s_ , but it doesn’t. The armchair James loved to sink into and watch a war film is still there, tucked into the corner; and Finn’s video games are stacked haphazardly on the bookshelf; and pictures of the kids and of the gang in Botswana cover the walls. It fills James with relief. Not only because Jeremy isn’t sitting at home in an empty home, lonely and pathetic, but that he isn’t grasping for James because he has nothing else.

Unsurprisingly, Jeremy leads James to the garage. “Another acquisition you want to show off, Clarkson?” he asks. “Ford haven’t built another car that has no hope of working for longer than 5 miles at a stretch, have they?”

Jeremy merely smiles enigmatically, opens the door, and gestures James inside.

Inside, just feet in front of him, bright and gleaming, is the GT-R. James can’t tell if it’s the exact same one he and Jeremy had driven, but it’s the same color. “Jezza?”

Shrugging, Jeremy answers, “I convinced them to let me keep it a few more days.”

James quirks his eyebrow and smiles. “You weren’t planning on shagging in that, were you? I mean, with a car that size it’s possible, but it’s not exactly  _comfortable_.”

Jeremy’s eyes widen comically, causing James to snort. “You know this for a fact, May?”

Shrugging, James makes a noncommittal sound. “ _Is_  that what you were planning?”

Jeremy scratches the top of his head and looks down. “Not…not in it, no,” he mumbles.

James waits until Jeremy lifts his eyes, then, looking back over his shoulder at him, strides toward the car before turning and leaning casually against the door. It’s a position he takes in front of Jeremy every week they’re filming, but Jeremy has never looked at him like that.

“Against it, then?” James teases. There’s that damn flush again, warming his cheeks.

What had taken James five steps takes Jeremy three, and suddenly James is caged against the car by long, strong Clarkson arms. Jeremy takes a deep breath then asks, voice husky, arms quivering on either side of James’ body. “Did you think about this, Slow? I mean, did you properly….”

“Yes,” James interrupts, anxious now to get on with it. His nostrils fill with the heady, smoky scent of Jeremy with each breath, and it’s all he can do to not reach out. Jeremy is so fucking close.

“And you’re sure?”

“Yes,” James answers again, whinging just a bit. Jeremy doesn’t move at first, just stares at him with soft blue eyes, scrapes his teeth across his bottom lip. “Jezza,” James murmurs, folding one hand over Clarkson’s bony hip and leaning up and in.

The first touch of lips is soft, not hesitant but  _careful_ , the way James was with his tools but Jeremy never was with  _any_ thing. Then there’s the touch of tongue on tongue and Jeremy draws closer, one slim thigh between James’. Their bellies press together, and James can feel each and every breath the other man takes. James’ free hand moves, his fingers spread across the rotund stomach against him, slipping between two buttons to make their first contact with hot skin.

“James,” Jeremy moans softly, breaking their kiss only to caress his way down James’ jaw and neck with trembling lips. His fingers cup the back of James’ head, thread their way through strands of hair.

“I’ve….” He presses his forehead against James’ temple. “I’ve got a confession, May,” he murmurs, humor in his voice.

“Hmm?”

“Ignition coil on the Mercedes didn’t just break. It had some help.”

“ _You_  broke it?”

“Yes.”

James pulls back to look at Jeremy in confusion. “Jez, you couldn’t find an ignition coil if your life depended on it.”

“Okay,  _I_  had some help.”

“Why?” And who, but that was less important.

Jeremy grins and twirls his fingers, wrapping them in locks of hair. He tugs gently. “This.”

“Knew you liked my hair,” James growls, ducking his head and nipping at Jeremy’s shoulder.

Jeremy shrugs and shifts slightly, the movement pressing his thigh more firmly against James’ crotch. His eyes widen briefly as if he’s surprised how hard James is. How hard  _Jeremy_  has made him. Then he grins. “Need something to grab when I fuck you.”

James tries to keep a straight face, but it’s no use. Within seconds, he’s laughing, fingers tightening on Jeremy’s shirt, head falling forward to rest against Jeremy’s shoulder.

Jeremy laughs, too, breath warm against James’ ear.

“That was so horrible, Clarkson,” James wheezes finally, one arm curling itself around his friend’s waist and using it to pull himself closer. Why has he never hugged Jeremy before? Or let himself be hugged?  _This feels incredible_. Jeremy smoothes one hand up and down the plane of James’ back before finally resting just above the curve of his arse.

_Yes, sex. That’s what we were getting to._

“What is this?” he blurts out, biting back the words too late.

“I understand it’s maybe been awhile, May, but surely you recognize the beginnings of sex….”

“Yeah. Never mind. ‘s stupid.” He pulls back and puts on a brave face. “Where were we?” he asks, pressing lips against Jeremy’s jaw line.

The other man sighs softly before cupping James’ face in his hand and moving until they’re eye to eye. “What is it, James? Tell me. If you’re not ready, or if you don’t want….”

“No. No, that’s not it.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t want to sound like a sodding girl, Jezza.”

Jeremy’s smile is bordering on apologetic when he answers, “You always do. Come on. Out with it.”

“What do you see this as? I’m not – I’m not asking for commitment….”

“But you don’t want to be a one-off.” Jeremy pauses, makes sure he has James’ attention. “You’re not a one-off, James.”

James sighs, relieved. “All right.”

“Woman,” Jeremy accuses gruffly.

“Fucker.”

“If you play your cards right.”

James groans good-naturedly and leans back against the car, tugging on Jeremy’s shirt and bringing him with. As they kiss, James’ fingers make quick work of the buttons on Jeremy’s shirt, finally tugging the garment from his jeans and slipping his hands inside, rubbing along soft but hairy flesh.

“Off,” Jeremy murmurs against his lips, yanking on James’ shirt.

“Gonna have to – fuck, Jez,” James groans as teeth nibble along the length of his collar. “Back up a bit.”

Jeremy does, with obvious reluctance, pushing his body back and moving his hands to roam along James’ hips and thighs. James has just enough time to grab at the neck of his shirt, tug it over his head, and toss it aside before Clarkson’s there, lips trailing across his chest.

His hands can’t help but fall onto Jeremy’s head, holding him there with a light touch, running his fingers over the sparse, sweaty curls. With large, heavy hands on James’ hips, Jeremy pushes himself up and leans in, lips brushing against James’ ear as he asks, “Do you – is this okay? For our first time?”

“Ah,” James gasps quietly, as warm hands move against his bare sides. “We – we are still getting a second time?”

“Mmm,” Jeremy agrees. “I vote yes.”

“Then, then this is rather appropriate, don’t you think?”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Then, without warning, one of those hands moves from its place on James’ torso, slides across his groin, and cups the bulge at the front of his trousers.

“Fuck,” James murmurs. His head drops back, against the top of the GT-R, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the other man’s slick shoulders. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

Jeremy blinks, confused. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“Definitely not,” James answers with a gasping laugh. “Just meant, I’ve never….”

Jeremy lifts one corner of his mouth in a smirk and rubs with his palm.

“Mmm, Jez.”

“I’ve never, either,” Jeremy answers. “Well, I do have one of my own….”

James finally gains control over his limbs and reaches to begin undoing Jeremy’s belt buckle. “And you know how to use that?”

“Haven’t had any complaints so far,” Jeremy answers, boastfully. “Wait, let me….” As James works on unfastening his trousers, Jeremy slips his arms out of his shirt, dropping it to the floor.

Flipping open Jeremy’s trousers with one hand, James uses the other to pull his friends’ head closer. He kisses him, nibbling on that bottom lip, as he slowly slides the zip down. “’m gonna touch you now, Jezza.”

Jeremy exhales slowly, and James can feel all the tension he’d been holding in his body disappear. “Not gonna stop you, Slow.”

With one last look at Jeremy’s face – to assure himself that this was  _Jeremy_ , that Jeremy wanted this, had instigated this whole thing – James slips his hand through the slit in the other man’s boxers and folds his fingers around hot, hard flesh.

“Fuuuuck.” Jeremy’s hand tightens automatically around James’ still-clothed erection in response to his own pleasure. Then, “Wait, fuck, wait, May,” and he’s stepping back and sliding his own trousers and pants down his hips and past long, pasty legs until they’re pooled at his feet. “Now, your turn.”

James does nothing but blink for a moment, then, with a shake of his head, does the same to his own clothes.

“Okay?” Jeremy asks. James nods and holds out his hand. Jeremy takes it and shuffles the two steps closer, complaining about his feet getting tangled in his trousers.

“Shoulda tossed ‘em aside like me, you pillock.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes then presses both palms to the GT-R’s windows. James leans back, feels the car against his bare skin for the first time. He shifts slightly in discomfort. “All right?” Jeremy asks.

“Am now. Door handle was digging into my arse. C’mere.”

Leaning his weight onto his hands, Jeremy shifts his hips, dragging his cock against James’ stomach, leaving a wet trail in its wake. He spreads his feet as far apart as he can while still confined by his trousers, and manages to rub his cock against James’.

James groans, and it’s the sight, the very  _idea_ , of his hard-on against Jeremy’s, that’s doing it more than the feeling. There isn’t much stimulation, yet, certainly not enough to make him come, but by Christ is it hot.

“Here, let me,” he murmurs, and folds his fingers around them both.

“Fuck, your hands,” Jeremy groans.

“That’s the idea, Jez,” James answers with a grin, his free hand slipping behind to palm Jeremy’s buttock. “Fuck my hand.”

“Now,” Jeremy wheezes, pulling his hips back then thrusting forward slightly, “now is not the time for wordplay.”

James’ grin gets filthy. “Bollocks, Jeremy,” just as his fingers slide lower and rub against Jeremy’s balls.

Jeremy laughs and butts his head against James’ shoulder. “Want to watch. Us. Together. Want to see.”

James rubs his hand along Jeremy’s back, ducking his head to press a kiss to Jeremy’s curls. “All right. You – you’re going to have to do most of the work.” Then Jeremy’s cock is sliding against his again. “Oh, god! Yes, like that.”

“Lazy sod, May.”

“Mmm,” James agrees, humming happily.

“Not – oh, shit, James – not gonna last long. Sorry, it’s been….”

“Shh.” He doesn’t want to hear how there’s been no one since Francie. James has suspected – it goes against his image, but Jeremy doesn't think much about casual sex, and the divorce has hit him hard, left him wounded – but he doesn’t want to think about it. “Come on, Jez.” He tightens his grip, rains kisses along the other man’s face. Wishes he could do more, could touch more. And then Jeremy is lifting his head, staring into James’ eyes.

Lips cover James’, hot and sweet, as hips press erratically against his in short, fast thrusts.  
Jeremy falters a bit, nearly falling to one side, as he pulls one arm away from the Nissan, and James opens his eyes in confusion. But he understands quickly when another hand joins his, fingers linking together, and Jeremy starts to help pull them off.

It’s only another minute or so before Jeremy lets out a long, low groan against James’ lips, hips stuttering. It’s that sound – that glorious sound of his lover in pleasure – and the feel of Jeremy Clarkson, coming in his hand, coating his own fingers and crotch and stomach in his warm semen, that makes James follow only a few seconds later.

Jeremy stumbles forward, collapsing heavy against James. He buries his face in the crook of James’ neck, breath hot and heavy and wet. James can feel the sniffle in his breath, knows he’s on the verge of tears.

James hates tears, can barely handle someone crying in front of him, or because of him. But Jeremy’s tears aren’t entirely unfamiliar to him, and they’ve always affected James in a way he’s not completely understood.

“Jez?” he asks, gently, cradling the heavy head against him with fingers spread across his skull.

“I’m fine. It’s…I just….”

“You miss Francie.”

Jeremy pulls head back quickly, leaving James cold. “No! I - fuck, James. It’s not her I miss; things between us were going wrong for a long time. We hadn’t been  _us_  for years. It’s feeling like this I miss, feeling….” He trails off with a sniffle, and wipes the back of his hand over his nose.

_Loved._  James can hear the word Jeremy isn’t saying.  _He’s missed feeling loved._  Suddenly, that feeling he gets in his chest when Jeremy can’t quite hide the fact that he’s been crying…it starts to make sense.

“Jeremy. Look at me.” James cups his face in his hands, long fingers curving over rough cheeks, and rubs his thumbs over dry skin. He latches his gaze onto Jeremy’s, lets himself show all the feelings he’s been bottling up inside for so much longer than he’d realized, then leans in and kisses him, long and deep and passionate. “All right?” he asks, finally.

“Yeah.” Jeremy chuckles and kisses his temple. “Me, too.”

Jeremy stands with a groan, scratching unconsciously at his belly, then leans over and tugs up his pants. Then he glances up, sees James – still completely naked – leaning back against the side of a car. A dream car. “Fuck, how did I get so lucky?”

James looks down at himself, quirking an eyebrow. “I could move out of the way, give you a better view of the car.”

“You’re fucking gorgeous, May,” he growls.

James thinks about making a crack about needing his prescription checked, but instead smiles. A few seconds later, his smile turns into a grimace as his stomach growls. Loudly.

“Lunch then?” Jeremy asks with a laugh. “Then maybe a kip?”

“A kip? Or a  _kip_?”

Jeremy moves closer and cards his fingers through the sticky hair at James’ nape. “I was thinking…first one, then maybe the second. If we’re feeling  _up_  to it.”

James has a feeling they will be.


End file.
